The curlews at Garsdale Station welcomed us with real razzmatazz, presumably well aware of the impending downpour that hit the station just as soon as the train had dropped us on the platform and disappeared around the bend towards Kirkby Stephen.

We hadn’t expected to use the built-in raincovers on our rucksacks quite so soon, at least not until the next morning when we were due to start walking. But Mother Nature was determined to give us a taste of things to come…

It’s year three of a five year plan to conquer the Pennine Way with my Dad, breaking the 20 day trek into five stages of four days each. And stood in the rain we reflected on how glad we were to not be able to take 20 days off work to walk The Way in one sitting.

We’re heading for Hawes, the small Yorkshire market town where we finished last years leg: Garsdale is the nearest stop by rail, 6 miles down the winding A664 that links Cumbria with Wensleydale.

It’s here we meet Raymond, a lifelong railwayman from the heart of the Dales. He turned out to be a lucky charm – we waited an hour for one of the two scheduled bus services before a clocking-off signalman took pity on Raymond and us and dropped us into town on his way home.

Hair dried and spirits warmed with hot tea, we head out into Hawes for the evening. We cross the Ure, hidden between thin stone houses and the narrow one way loop that bridges the fast moving water.

First stop is the the Crown. Dripping pints of Old Peculiar straight from a fresh cask brimming with rich plum tart and apple fudge are an olfactory flashback to the places we’ve visited along the way so far, of windswept trails, muddy boots and welcoming pubs.

We avoid Raymond’s local, partly from choice but mostly because the White Hart is shut down and for sale, and I felt a pang of guilt for not being too surprised.

Next stop is Chaste, a small ever-evolving bistro in the heart of the town. Since last year Belgian beers have made their way onto the inventive menu and Pilsner Urquell adorns the bar, and so it was that Chimay Red accompanied our grilled chicken dishes.

7% beers were unsustainable the night before attacking Great Shunner Fell, the highest part of The Way above sea level so far. So Pilsner Urquell – lacking some of its usual herbaceous aroma – helped fill the hole that abstinence from desserts left.

Two pints later and we’re talking to the only simultaneous winner of the J. Sleightholme Trophy For Largest Cod and the Dr King Cup For Other Fish, a feat not rivalled since 1984/5. The Fountain is a drinking pub compared to the pastel-coloured gentrification of the Crown, but fishing hasn’t been on the cards since the turn of the millennium.

It’s Black Sheep not Theakston’s now, a which-one-will-it-be lottery that you have to get used too pretty quickly in the Dales. But for our sins were drinking very cloudy and poorly poured Blue Moon followed by crisp pints of Copper Dragon Conqueror – freshly nosed and quenching.

The crowd gets younger and the bottles of Becks are starting to dominate the empties on the bar. Luckily the juke box hasn’t come to life yet, though by the looks of its age it’s more comfortable with rock and roll than the dub step that the youngsters are reciting in the corner. Seconds from announcing retirement to the B&B Dad throws the gauntlet down with a last gasp round. Two pints of something else hit the beer-drenched bar towel; was it Black Sheep bitter, or perhaps an Old Peculiar nightcap?

Bending down to tie our laces the next morning we both groan, perhaps a little in the way that my grandfather – dads dad – has perfected over the years.

“Shouldn’t have had that last beer last night, should we?”

And with that we head for the high road and start the long slog up Great Shunner Fell. 6 pints down, just 4 evenings, 60 odd miles and god knows how many gradient lines to go…

Garsdale station

The route

Graham Nuttall

Russwarp

White Hart Hawes

The Crown Hawes

The hop goddess

Conqueror

Hawes club

Christmas Beer Gift Packs

Purity Ale gift pack

WARNING: these gift suggestions are not (I repeat not!) suitable for your beer widow!!! Read the rest of this entry »

Every time I have Black Sheep I expect it to be darker, heavier and harder to drink than it really is – my perception really does do it a disservice.

Whether it’s the overly dark bottle or the simple yet foreboding label, I find myself pleasantly surprised at Black Sheep’s drinkability each time I drink it.

My misperception stems from having spent a couple of comedy nights necking bottles of this at Hifi in Leeds, a situation that quickly leads to bloating and an early retirement; to be sure this isn’t a beer for a long session or a night on the town.

However, out of the bottle and enjoyed at a gentler pace, Black Sheep is a deep, amber coloured ale, rich in both colour and  flavour, it’s body bittersweet as the label describes. It takes a few sips to accustom too, beyond which it can be sunk with an ease that creeps up on you. Within minutes it seemed my glass was dry, as was the bottle!

It’s difficult to describe the flavours of Black Sheep, so I might just say what it isn’t. It isn’t overpoweringly hoppy or malty, it doesn’t have a fruity edge or a tangy twist. It has an interesting aftertaste that can’t quite work out if it’s going to be sweet enough to send your taste buds into raptures or bitter enough to make you gasp for another sip immediately. At the same time this feeling isn’t harsh but gently crisp and completely satisfying. In the end you take another sip and another gulp without even realising, enthralled in it’s balanced body and lingering, malty finale.

Black Sheep is one of those beers that really is a “real ale”.It’s strength isn’t in outrageous ingredients nor pretentious marketing statements. Black Sheep is British ale as good as real ale gets – deep, mysterious and glorious in its simple yet rich aromas. There isn’t one overriding ingredient or flavour that defines Black Sheep, it is pure, balanced class, expertly crafted and a beer that Masham, Yorkshire, and the whole UK can truly be proud of.

Black Sheep Ale